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<title>Bite Marks by SeverinadeStrango</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657170">Bite Marks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango'>SeverinadeStrango</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sengoku Basara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, BDSM, Biting, Blood, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Masochism, Mitsuhide's POV, POV Second Person, Power Imbalance, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:55:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26657170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitsuhide cherishes what's left.  His Lord is capricious with tokens of affection.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akechi Mitsuhide/Oda Nobunaga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bite Marks</h2></a>
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    <p>When he leaves at the end of the night it is as if he was never there.  He comes and goes like a storm, like a tsunami.  Your Lord does not have things happen to him, it is he who happens upon things and you are no different.  He sweeps in and devastates the lands and leaves without another word.  He leaves you wrecked on the floor, unable to feel your legs, tasting nothing but your own blood and your faint fantasies of his touches however violent or otherwise.  </p><p>The rougher the better.  It stings, sometimes even hours afterwards.  It is proof that you are alive and you cling to it as if it is the one thread holding you afloat in your endless heavenly sea.</p><p>You move your limbs one at a time.  They ache and burn.  Good.  </p><p>Pick up the tattered remains of your robes and clothing.  Don’t mind the door, left just open enough to offer a glimpse of the horror you have been left as to any unfortunate passersby.  Do not reminisce.  That is useless advice because you will do so anyways.  Chase the imprints of his hands on your skin and the sound of his breath in your ear.  They are fading away faster than you can comprehend.  </p><p>You cry.  </p><p>You are not sure if it’s out of happiness or sorrow, but there’s desperation in there, and no small amount.</p><p>But as you gather your aching limbs together you feel the torn edges of skin you find your small shreds of confirmation to cling to, at least for the next few days.  Something to covet and scratch at, maybe, until they healed.  Little bits of your Lord.</p><p>You are grateful.</p>
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